Invasion
by EchoDeltaNine
Summary: Whipped. Draco is tired of being called that. Unfortunately, he never really thought through the consequences of de-feminizing his flat. Now he's in for a long week of groveling, begging, and generally being pathetic. He can only hope that'll be enough.
1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway to his flat, completely disgusted. His nose turned up and his mouth set in a grim line, he began to scour the room, throwing a large amount of the things he came across into the middle of the room.

He groaned as he reached the little ceramic angels that glittered in the sunlight and sang at sunset. He hated those damned things; they weren't even cute! And they sang like shrill trolls and tinkled merrily throughout the day. They just had to go.

Next the lace table runner that was not only pink, but also did not match any of the dark, sophisticated furniture he had painstakingly picked out to adorn his flat. He wadded it up with great satisfaction and threw it viciously into a box.

He tossed that ratty old pink-tinged blanket that was draped over his designer leather couch in after it.

His bookshelf was next. Frilly books about romance and children's tales, several by dimwitted idiots on House Elf rights and on other "misunderstood" magical creatures, all got chucked into another box. (He'd never admit it, but he blushed like a mad man when he found the one called 1,001 Moves to Make Him Moan; and he'd take it to the grave the fact that he wedged it behind a couple of his own books in order to provide the chance to take a peek at it later). Three cat-shaped bookends found themselves packed unceremoniously next to the stack of books.

There were four silver-gilded picture frames sporting cheesy pictures she'd forced him to partake in that he tossed happily down beside the angels. He was so sick of watching himself act foolishly over, and over, and over again.

He looked around his living room, pitching a purple porcelain box into the pile of stuff, along with a garish yellow vase that he absolutely hated.

He prowled down the hallway to the bathroom, yanking the scarlet and gold towels from the rack and throwing them into the doorway, along with that wretched pink loofa that hung from the water spout. He pitched out the citrus-scented shampoo, the lavender-smelling soap, the pink razor.

He grinned gleefully as he surveyed the bathroom, restocked with the old spice that he liked and the emerald green and silver towels hanging cheerfully from the towel bar. He nodded in approval as he added her toothbrush, make up, and perfume to the growing pile in his living room.

He tackled the home office next. A whole box of crystal paperweights, froufrou quills, another 2 picture frames of Potter and Weasel, a pad of pink paper, and a whole lot of paperwork that was just taking up space where it didn't belong.

The bedroom was next. He cleared out nearly a quarter of his closet, all pleated skirts and ruffled tops. Two full drawers of pants and sweatshirts and t-shirts. Silk sleepwear and satin panties with at least two dozen pairs of socks. He was horrified at the amount of clothing that had found its way into his room!

He glared viciously at the bed as well, taking great care to remove the gold-colored bed skirt and the half-dozen decorative pillows that served no purpose at all except to be a pain in the ass to take off and put back on.

But there was still something wrong with the whole thing. First her jewelry had to go, and another blasted book on the nightstand, and her damned medication. Still, something was off.

He narrowed his eyes at the bed and then took a flying leap onto it. He made sure the thing was thoroughly rumpled before he left it: the sheets were creased and the top sheet was balled up toward the footboard; the doublet was half-hanging off of the bed frame, and three of the four pillows he normally slept with were on the floor; the other was smashed between the mattress and the headboard.

Draco observed the mess with a great satisfaction. Now _this_ was what a bachelor pad should look like.

He didn't know when it started, but he noticed himself whistling as he tossed several flower-shaped pot holders, a set of bird salt and pepper shakers, and another vase of violets and gardenias onto the pile of junk that was taking up the majority of his living room.

He threw a whole box of shoes onto the heap after a long fight with his hall closet and that was the end of it.

Draco assessed the damage with a perverse sense of pleasure. He was done with her taking over his apartment, and it was long past time for him to put his foot down. He would clearly be the winner this time.

He sighed happily and then threw himself down onto the couch, flipping on the television (which he could allow was a rather entertaining object) to watch one of those stupid reality shows that he liked to laugh at.

The only problem with the damned television, though, was that he forgot to bother to listen for the door, and he completely missed it. That is, until…

"What the devil have you done?"


	2. Chapter 2

Draco slowly pulled himself to his feet and turned to face her, his arms crossed defensively across his chest.

She stood there, framed in the doorway, a bulging paper sack in her arms. Her hair was wild, as always, and fell in think tangles around her face, shadowing her furious gaze.

"Draco." Her voice shook in what he quickly discerned was barely-bridled rage and he visibly shrunk as she took one step—only a single, very scary, very threatening step—towards him. "What the bloody hell have you been doing?"

He gulped loudly, his hands dropping lifelessly to his sides, the shame already kicking in. But then he heard Zabini's voice in his head.

_Whipped. You are whipped, Draco Malfoy_.

No. Draco Malfoy could not stand to hear that said ever again. And he didn't think he could stand to spend any more time at Zabini's place, what with his little sister praying on him every time he stepped through the door and the rest of the guys' smug voices telling him how much of a pansy he was. No, this was the last straw.

"I've been improving," he said quietly, staring as boldly at her as he could.

"Improving _what_, exactly?" The sunlight was illuminating her face now, and he could see her clenched jaw, her clever, calculating eyes.

"Listen," he started, trying to sound as confident as he wanted to feel. "I think it's time we do a little spring cleaning, and it's time that it looks like I actually live here."

Her eyes narrowed to slits and her nostrils flared. It took every ounce of his courage and self-control to not move.

"Perhaps you're right, then, Draco," her voice was velvety soft and he knew that what he had done had been extremely, extremely stupid.

There were no other verbal exchanges as she lit his fireplace and began flooing her things to her flat across town. He wanted to, but he couldn't quite find the power to actually protest when she unplugged the alarm clock in his room, or took the hairdryer with the 5 speed settings. He couldn't find it in himself to complain when she took the ornate clock from over his fireplace (he had totally forgotten that she had bought it). He had to choke back his objection when she levitated the television, but he managed to stay silent, watching from beside the doorway to the kitchen.

When she was done she stood in front of the fireplace and looked back at him. He could not read her expression, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

"Happy now?" Her voice was flat and it was quickly deflating the satisfaction he had had over making his apartment manlier.

He sighed.

"Hermione—"

"Don't." She held up a hand and her eyes flashed for a second before becoming the dull, focused brown of moments before. "When you've decided to stop being an idiotic snob, perhaps you can grovel enough to make me come back. Until you do," she looked around the apartment, her nose slightly scrunched, "enjoy your manliness."

Before he could fully comprehend what had just happened, she whirled out of sight in a roar of green flames.

Though he was well aware that it would never happen, he was half-hoping that she would be barging back in here, a determined look on her face. After all…she didn't put up much of a fight. Or any fight, really.

He frowned and ran a hand through his hair before slouching down onto his couch. Without the television his living room appeared too empty, and he had a feeling that getting up for work tomorrow was going to be hell on earth without the alarm clock.

Oh yeah, Draco thought scathingly. Zabini sure knew what he was talking about.

Sighing about for over an hour, Draco finally stood and made his way to the kitchen, throwing the Auror Handbook onto his coffee table in irritation.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

His stomach growled loudly and he grumbled as he began pawing through the cupboards looking for something to eat. But they were all empty except for a box of spaghetti noodles, a can of green beans (which he hated), and several boxes of Jiffy biscuit mix.

His refrigerator was devoid of anything edible on its own. The milk was nearly gone and the vegetables were wilted and clearly inedible. He slammed the door shut and growled in mounting frustration.

Of course, there were some things he could eat, like the spaghetti, but he had no sauce, and he certainly wasn't up for a shopping trip (muggle stores scared him and Hermione was always supposed to do the shopping anyway).

He remembered, then, the bag she had been carrying when she came home. They were groceries, he realized. She had come here to stock his home with food. And she would have cooked it for him too, perhaps making that mushroom ravioli sauce he liked or baking Crème Brulee for a sweet treat after a tough day at work.

But not tonight. No, he'd just tossed that delicious idea right through his floo, and it was all thanks to Zabini.

The buttered noodles he ate for dinner didn't sit well in his stomach and he had a hard time sleeping that night in his cold, rumpled bed.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why are you sulking?"

Draco rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself, ignoring Zabini's question.

"Yeah, Drake," Theo Nott called from across the room, surfacing from a heated kiss with Zabini's little sister, Keerie. "You've been pouting for days."

"What's got your knickers in a twist, love?" Keerie kissed Theo again and then rose fluidly to her full height. She crossed to Draco and settled onto his lap, wrapping one of her arms around his neck. "Has that Granger bint finally realized that you're too good for her?"

"Keerie," Zabini said in a low warning. Draco bared his teeth at her.

"I am not too good for Hermione Granger," he hissed.

"Oh," Keerie pouted, patting Draco's cheek condescendingly. "You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."

Enraged, Draco rose to his feet and dumped Keerie onto the floor. She huffed indignantly at him and then had the gall to throw him a saucy look as she sauntered back to Theo.

"That was uncalled for," Zabini said. "Draco might be a sap, but Granger isn't horrible."

"She's a regular harpy," Theo chimed in.

"Shut it, T," Zabini growled. He turned back to Draco. "Now come on, what's really going on?"

"I did what you told me to do," Draco sneered at him. Furious, he clutched his chair's pillow to his chest and angled himself away from his friends. It was all their fault anyway.

Zabini snorted. "You did _what_?"

"I did what you told me to do."

"You kicked Granger out of your apartment? Draco, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I was tired of you giving me shit about having a girlfriend and I was thinking that I was tired of being accosted by your sister every time I come over her." Keerie sniffed in his direction, clearly irritated by his lack of regard for her.

"I wouldn't have to accost you if you just accepted my advances."

"Shut up," he snapped. He glared at her, then at her brother. "This is all your fault."

"Drake," Zabini laughed. "I mean, really. It's my job to give you shit about your girlfriend. Besides, it's Granger. She's great and all, but a swotty bitch, too."

"Shut the fuck up, Zabini," Draco snarled. He was on his feet again, his fists clenched in anger.

"Whoa, whoa," his friend said, carefully holding up his hands. "I didn't mean that offensively."

Draco growled angrily as he settled back into the chair. Now that he was good and pissed off he just wanted to go home—to Hermione, to his life with her.

He crossed his arms and glared at the floor.

"You're really upset about this?"

"Yeah, I am!"

"Calm down," Zabini said gently, moving about the room. Draco watched him as he pried Keerie off of Theo and threw her protesting form out of the room. "Let's just think about this."

"What's there to think about?" Theo asked, looking satisfied and well-kissed. "Draco's done ruined it with Granger." He shot Draco a conspiratorial look. "I say we just share Keerie. Win win for everybody."

Draco smirked with great satisfaction as Zabini whacked Theo a good one for being so crass.

"It's bad enough she's half dating you, T. I'd rather you not talk about it."

Theo snarked back an answer that earned him a stinging hex and then Zabini turned back to Draco.

"What did you tell her, exactly?"

Draco frowned. "I told her that it needed to look like I actually lived in my apartment."

Zabini groaned, tilting his head back. Draco bristled at the pity in his friend's gaze.

"Well, don't panic yet," his friend mused, tapping his chin. Draco watched Zabini, brooding until the light bulb went on.

Zabini grinned and leaned forward on the coffee table.

"Here's what you have to do."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Step one: fall back into good graces._

That was putting it lightly. Draco grimaced as he neared Hermione's office. He was getting strange looks from his co-workers—and for good reason. He'd donned his best suit for today, including the flashy silver buttons that she liked and the hideous tie she'd bought him for his birthday. A huge bouquet of lilies in his hand.

And no. This was not the first time Draco had come groveling to his girlfriend's office. But this was definitely the first time that he was honestly afraid she would turn him away.

He smiled uncomfortably at Hermione's secretary and took a deep breath before rapping on the door.

"Just a moment!" Hermione's chipper voice replied. Nervous, Draco pulled at his collar. He could feel the sweat beading over his skin—felt the cool lake of it building up in his suit. He grimaced, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. This was going to be horrible.

"We'll meet Wednesday for lunch?"

Draco stiffened at the voice.

"Yes, yes. Anabelle's at one o'clock."

"Good. It was really great to see you, Hermione." The door opened as the guest said her name, and as he turned, Draco drew himself up to his full height. Anthony Goldstein paled at the sight of him. "Malfoy," he greeted quietly.

"Goldstein," Draco cut back shortly. His anger flared as Hermione appeared behind him, her hand resting intimately on his elbow. Draco hardened his gaze at her, but she completely ignored him.

"It was good to see you too, Tony. I will see you Wednesday." Goldstein smiled thinly, nodded at Hermione and then Draco, and left as quickly as he could.

"Granger," Draco growled. He was furious at the exchange he had just witnessed. What the fuck was she playing at?"

"Malfoy," she bit back. Instead of inviting him in, she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, barring him from entering. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you about what happened last week. Just in the nick of time, it appears."

She bristled at his statement, her whole body stiffening and her eyes narrowing.

"You need to leave."

"No." Draco shook his head, holding his ground when she tried to drag him away from the office. "Granger!" He raised his voice and tugged her back to his side. "Listen, I need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you." She pulled her hands away from him and pointed down the hallway. "Go."

"Hermione, please." He softened his voice, molded his face to sincerity. "Five minutes. Please."

She gave him a hard look then marched past him into her office.

"You have exactly five minutes before I call security, Draco."

Nervous now, he cautiously sat down on the chair across from her desk. On the other side, Hermione calmly stared him down. She was still angry, though. The lines around her mouth were tight.

He opened his mouth—twice—but nothing came out.

"Time is ticking, Draco."

He swallowed, then thrust the bouquet of flowers at her.

"I got these for you." She arched a brow but thankfully accepted the flowers. She settled them onto the corner of the desk and turned her gaze back to him.

"Listen," he began when she started to look impatient. "I have been doing some thinking, and I am really sorry about what happened." He broke off as she snorted. He frowned.

"You think that kicking me out of your apartment can just be remedied by flowers and a half-arsed apology?" She rolled her eyes, extracting a small bird from the cage beside her desk. She whispered in its ear and then released into the air. The bird raced through the small window above the door. She fixed him in her furious gaze. "You can hardly expect me to be so understanding."

"I know." Draco sighed. "I know that I was an arse, but I was just…embarrassed. Because I-I love you, and Zabini and Theo don't understand that—"

"That gives you no reason to be so cruel to me."

"No, you're absolutely right. And you can't imagine what kind of guilt I have been going through—"

"Yes, I can see that you're all torn up." She rose from her desk at the same time that the door opened. "Thank you for your visit. Your time is up."

"Wait," Draco cried, struggling against Saint Potter and the Weasel King as they unceremoniously forced him out of his chair. "Granger, wait!"

"Please show him the door, boys." Hermione settled back into her chair as he was dragged out of the room. "Perhaps if you grovel enough I might forgive you." Though her voice was cold, he caught a glimpse of her smile as the door shut behind him.


End file.
